Def Jam / GOOD;
2012

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Cruel Summer is not Kanye West's record; listening to it, I found a certain peace in reminding myself of this. Cruel Summer is a crew album, a chance for all of the rappers he's signed to his G.O.O.D. imprint during the past few years to momentarily feel like they own the place. They range from former greats like Pusha-T to half-decent punchline rappers like Big Sean to entourage bottom-feeders like CyHi the Prince, and spending a long time in their presence can feel like being trapped in a reality-TV house. Kanye drops by occasionally, but he mostly feels a million miles away. Kanye's career has been built on maniacal quality control, but Cruel Summer feels uncharacteristically disposable.

Even the title is botched. The album arrives on September 18, with school in session and the season's cruelest days far behind us. This day late/dollar short feeling persists throughout. The production is often cluttered with unnecessary effects, like the vocal "whoa-oh-oh" synth pads West threw on his remix of Chief Keef's "I Don't Like" when he couldn't figure out how to improve it. Songs take ill-advised turns. After verses from Raekwon, Common, Pusha T, 2 Chainz, and CyHi the Prince are hurled at you like a handful of action figures on "The Morning", the song inexplicably changes key so that Nigerian singer D'Banj can warble in Auto-Tune. "Sin City" starts out with a generic dubstep low-end before transitioning into a mortifying slam-poetry performance by Malik Yusef. And then when that's over, who should come along next but... CyHi the Prince. Again.

If Kanye had resisted the temptation to stuff Cruel Summer with his LucasArts production magic, it might have worked as a pure bid for rap radio's dead center. With "Niggas in Paris", West got closer to that center than he'd been in a while; My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, for all its accolades, struggled to find its foothold on the pop charts. There are a handful of hits here, and they range from the pretty good to the fantastic. You've probably heard them all by now, and they will outlive this comp; they are are the reason the record deserves to exist.

Cruel Summer's secret MVP is Hit-Boy, the producer who brought Kanye the "Paris" beat; he shows up on with "Cold" (formerly known as "Theraflu"), a sleekly coursing West solo track in which he hashes out the increasingly silly details of his life -- his jealousy towards Kim Kardashian's 72-day husband Kris Humphries; his adventures go-karting with Polish models -- with his trademark aggrieved sense of urgency. Hit-Boy also offers up "Clique", a transfixing, Timbaland-like collection of hiccups and synth strobes. "Clique" is haughty, spotless, and coldly perfect; it sounds like bottle service. West takes the opportunity to sneer at former CIA director George Tenet's car.

Apart from Hit-Boy's contributions, there are three tracks from Hudson Mohawke, the rising Glasgow producer whose compellingly fractured beats have caught the ear of hip-hop figures like Just Blaze. His contributions -- "To the World", "The One", and "Bliss", which makes use of 2009's "Ice Viper"-- don't sound like anything off of his riotous Satin Panthers EP, but they are welcome signs that Mohawke is moving into high-profile hip-hop territory. "To the World", a track featuring R. Kelly that's built off a slightly stiff drumline beat and swarms of string plucks, benefits from an animated turn from Kanye, who mangles Francis Ford Coppola's name hilariously and taunts Mitt Romney in a nagging singsong for failing to disclose his taxes.

But once the early run of singles are out of the way, things start to go south. By the time you get to Kid CuDi's dribbly alt-rock solo turn "Creepers" (actual lyric: "If I had one wish, it'd be to have more wishes/ Duh... Fuck trying to make it rhyme") it seems like even the artists involved have left the room. Pusha-T huffs and snorts a lot, but drops lines like "wherever we go, we do it pronto." You'd never guess from his performance here that he was once a member of Clipse. Big Sean, who's shown flickering signs of wanting to actually rap lately, sits back and offers terrible puns on the word "ass." R&B singer Teyana Taylor comes nowhere near her work on Twisted Fantasy.

It's the sense of Event, which has become as much of an art for Kanye as his music over the years, that is most blatantly missing here. The only people who seem to recognize what's at stake are the old-timers. Ma$e, of all people, shows up out of nowhere on "Higher" to lick shots at his former Bad Boy rival Loon: No one cares, but he still sounds slick. And then there's Ghostface, who roars to life at the end of "New God Flow", a track based off his own "Mighty Healthy" from 2000's classic Supreme Clientele. Ghost's appearance is an obvious prestige-casting move, but still a perfect one, and he makes the most of it, reliving his Pretty Toney days one more time. A handful of guests aside, though, none of G.O.O.D. Music's personalities do much to justify their newfound prominence. If Cruel Summer is meant to be an argument for the label's other talent, it makes a weak case.